


Ocean (A Coda to Mirrors)

by malu (orphan_account)



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/malu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Not real! Just playing!</b><br/>(Sorry.)</p><p>Oh and I blame Lyra and her anon for this... Vale would never ;)<br/>No prior knowledge of Mirrors or the Assen-drama is required.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Lay your love on mine

**Author's Note:**

> **Not real! Just playing!**  
>  (Sorry.)
> 
> Oh and I blame Lyra and her anon for this... Vale would never ;)  
> No prior knowledge of Mirrors or the Assen-drama is required.

Marc sneaks out of his motorhome at the first occasion Thursday night, walking down a familiar path. He feels weak in the knees, the anxiousness in his guts missing with anticipation and despair. The stupid media uproar after Assen had cost them their time together, had kept them from resolving _things_ there and then and that left both of them hanging, waiting, maybe dreading or craving tonight. Sure, they’ve been talking on the phone, but as neither of them feels like they got much out of phone sex, they’ve been going without. And most of what’s due after _that_ particular race event can only be delivered in person anyway. So here he is, walking up to Vale’s door with trembling legs and tonight, he’s taken extra care to slip out unnoticed. Though… he wonders just what kind of comments pictures showing him entering Vale’s motorhome in the middle of the night would get.

The door isn’t locked and he lets himself in, stopping right after closing the door behind himself.

”I’ve been expecting you,” Vale says, voice dropping. Marc feels a shudder run down his spine and wonders if the people who only know his squeaky interview voice would recognize him at all.

On the couch, facing him, the Italian is leaning comfortably, dressed unusually formal in black slacks and a skintight white T-Shirt, a glass of red on the table. It’s a vision, Marc thinks, already feeling his cock react, heat pooling in his lap. His tongue darts out involuntarily, licking his lips and he sees Vale’s pupils blow wide at the sight. _At least, I’m not the only one who’s desperate._

Marc doesn’t need to be told what to do, not anymore. He undresses efficiently, folding his clothes and placing them on the floor and then drops to his knees to wait for Vale’s orders. It’s embarrassing though to be kneeling here almost fully hard already. From nothing more than just anticipation and looking at _him_.

”Come here.”

He crawls to the spot at Vale’s bare feet and feels Vale’s hand slide into his hair, fingertips caressing his scalp. His body betrays him, trembling from head to toe, even if he at least manages to bite back the moan.

”You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

”Yes, Sir.”

Sir is still new. And it’s not come up as Vale’s request, it’s been his own desire that Vale had only fulfilled reluctantly. But Marc likes this, likes the slight degradation it brings along for him.

”Head up.”

Marc obeys, his eyes meeting Vale. He can feel his own affection returned in the steel blue and it’s overwhelming, every single time. _Valentino Rossi is into me. _That_ Valentino Rossi._ Vale traces the collar around his neck, gooseflesh covering Marc’s body.

”But you haven’t been a good boy last weekend.”

Marc swallows, feeling the collar against his throat. He lowers his head, but Vale’s finger reaches under his chin and lifts it back up, forcing him to look up to the Italian.

”No, I haven’t been a good boy, Sir.”

”So, what have you been?” The dangerous vibe of Vale’s playtime voice is back, making Marc’s cock twitch.

”I have been a bad boy, Sir.”

”And what happens to bad boys?”

”They are punished, Sir.” Marc’s skin is feeling too tight already, nervousness and anticipation too much to bear. “Please, punish me, Sir.”

***

Having Marc Marquez kneeling at his feet, naked and vulnerable, looking up through these lashes, Vale doesn’t know what he’s done right to deserve this. The younger is absolutely gorgeous, every muscle firm and lean, the little scars breaking the smooth skin, telling the story of his life. Vale absentmindedly traces a small half-moon of scarred skin at Marc’s collar bone, feels the other shiver under his touch.

”Yes, bad boys need to be punished,” he says and he’s so turned on by everything right now that it’s taking him a fair bit of effort to keep his voice straight and make it sound casual. 

He lets Marc drop his head and strokes through his hair for a while, trying to focus on his task for the night again. And well, Vale is too old to suffer through this, so he barks the one order that’s going to help him stay sane.

”I want you to blow me first.” He more or less manages to say it as evenly as if he just ordered pasta at a restaurant.

Marc’s fingers open his slacks and if it surprises that Spaniard that he’d gone commando, the younger doesn’t show it. As he’s been taught, he locks his hands behind his back and then leans down, taking Vale in almost completely.

He moans, the hotness and wetness feeling so good, too good. And the sight, Marc’s lips stretched around him, it’s beautiful. And Vale remembers that he’s punishing the boy tonight, punishing him for acting up against him, his master, publicly. It’s not that he actually minds or cares and he knows that Marc knows. It’s important that they both know that, are aware that what they’re doing here is a game, a play, acting out fantasies. It’s what went wrong with him and Alvaro too often. But anyway, even if out of the bedroom he fully understands Marc’s and Honda’s position, during their session he will punish Marc. And that means he’s perfectly fine to take a tight hold of Marc’s hair and fuck his mouth. And he’s not even embarrassed when he feels his muscles tighten way too soon. He makes no attempt to hold back, not after waiting for this night for almost two weeks. All he does is pull Marc’s head back to come over his face. It’s something he doesn’t do very often, it’s degrading and humiliating and mostly not up to his taste. But as they won’t be able to have corporal punishment now, before the races, he can just as well. Marc reacts surprised, trying to turn away and he yelps when Vale uses his grip on his hair to keep him in place.

The image he’s seeing there now, his lover with splashes of cum, slowly making their way down his nose and cheeks, some even clinging to his lashes, it makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he should do this more often. Especially as he can see that it’s clearly making Marc squirm from uncomfortableness and shame. At least, the young rider knows better than to wipe it away.

”So… do you remember how many times we had to watch that video with race direction?”

He takes a sip from his glass and uses his free hand to tilt up Marc’s chin.

”Three times, Sir.”

”So how many times do you think I’ll make you come now?”

He sees the shock written all over Marc’s face and smirks down viciously.

Marc’s reply is a mere whisper. ”Three times, Sir.” 

_Let your safety fall_  
_Lay your pride on the line_


	2. Keep Your Lips on Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long. And sorry, but there's no way I'm proofreading this. I'll need a lot of time and distance to look at this without cringing ;)
> 
> ♥

Marc can feel his heart racing in his chest now. Three times. They haven’t done that before. He barely manages twice and that usually is borderline on being too painful, bringing him close to yell their safeword through the room. He swallows and his throat goes dry. But Vale’s eyes are relentless now, deep in their zone. Deep down inside, Marc knows he deserves this. Wants this. As if his hard and leaking cock wasn’t enough proof of that anyway.

”Look at you, all dirty with my come on you,” Vale says softly, a finger tracing Marc’s jaw. Marc feels his face light up with shame and tries to turn away, evade Vale’s gaze, but the Italian keeps his chin in place. “And you’re such a slut for it, so horny for me,” Vale keeps whispering, his finger reaching between Marc’s legs, ghosting over his tip. He needs that mix of emotions, the complete humiliation that makes him squirm and blush and the burning desire that forces him to buck into Vale’s touch, eagerness further embarrassing him. Vale’s finger traces his lips, smearing his own precome over them and Marc knows he’s not allowed to lick that of either. “You’re so beautiful when you’re so desperate. Waiting for me to fuck you, fill you up. But you don’t deserve to be fucked.”

Marc whines and receives a slap to his face in return, making his cheek burn with pain but even more with shame.

”Bad boys don’t deserve to be fucked and you know that.”

”Please, Sir.”

”Begging suits you, my little boy. Begging sure suits you,” Vale is cooing now, fingertip tracing Marc’s jawline again and smiling down affectionately. Marc just wishes he would at least clean up his face, but he figures it’s one of the small mercies he doesn’t deserve tonight.

”Kneel in the middle of the room.” He sees Vale reach for his wine again and wishes he would be offered a drink, wishes he would get just more moment to relax.

Marc feels uncomfortable out in the open, kneeling on the cold tiles in the center of the living room and although he is eyeing the floor as he’s been taught, he can feel Vale watching him. It makes the flush creep up higher on his body, but it also makes his cock twitch and by now, he’s more than a little desperate. Desperate but also scared, because he knows that once his punishment starts, there is no way out and he remembers well how quickly the absolute pleasure can turn into intolerable pain when Vale has him where he wants him to and won’t stop torturing him until he’s an exhausted, sobbing pile of mess.

”Good boy,” the Italian has moved up to stand behind him, hand running through his hair. Marc leans into the touch, would purr if he could.

A firm grip presses his face forward, until he has his forehead against the tiles.

”Spread for me,” Vale says, emphasizing his words with a stinging slap. 

It’s new and it’s another one of these little things that make him feel even more humiliated, that make him flinch and twist and squirm without Vale even doing a thing. Marc has asked for just this though and he’s overwhelmed that Vale is giving it to him so willingly, adjusting his own style of play in favor of Marc’s desire.

When he moves his hands from his back to his ass, holding his cheeks apart, his face is in flames despite the coolness of the tiles he’s leaning against, but he also hears a surprised Valentino gasp behind him that makes a wave of pride run through him.

”Look at that, so beautiful, so ready for your toy.” A cold, lubed finger runs over his hole, teasing. “You want your toy?”

”Yes, Sir.” Marc slurs, struggling with the words, slowly losing his mind.

”I don’t think you deserve your toy though. This is not about you, boy. But I have a surprise for you, I brought you something new.”

Two fingers push deep inside without further warning and Marc bites his lips sharply, taking a couple of labored breaths against the stinging pain. The fingers move and twist uncomfortably, roughly, avoiding his prostate and making absolutely clear that there’s no intention of giving him pleasure. And then they’re replace with something wide and cold. A new plug, obviously, but much shorter than their normal toy, not reaching far enough to reach his prostate. Marc sighs, earning another slap to his ass.

”Do you have a complaint?”

”No, Sir.”

He wills his muscles to relax around the toy, waits for the burn to lessen. It’s wider than the other one, too, making it difficult to adapt.

”Sit up.”

Marc obeys, sitting back on his heels. The movement is on the verge of painful and he bites his lips, hard, not wanting to provoke Vale with further sounds of distress.

”You’re doing so well.”

The words wash over him and he’s grateful when Vale crouches down in front of him, kissing him breathless, hands tangled in his hair. His erection comes back up full though and he starts moaning into Vale’s mouth, starts shifting on his knees, his whole body beginning to tremble with need.

The Italian steps back and sits down on the coffee table, facing Marc. 

”Touch yourself.”

_No. Not like this._ Pleading, Marc makes eye contact with Vale, but he knows that it’s a lost cause and when the Italian raises his eyebrows, Marc reaches for his cock with a trembling hand. He spreads the pool of precome at the tip and starts sliding his fingers up and down, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor and tears of frustration in the corners of his eyes.

”So pretty. You should see yourself like this, so gorgeous.” Vale’s voice sounds strained but Marc wishes he would stop talking, stop making this even more humiliating. Marc realizes he’s once again asked Vale for more than he can deal with, but that realization comes a fair bit too late. “I wish the others could see you like this, too. Imagine Jorge watching you like that, pleasuring yourself like a little slut.”

Marc squirms and really wants the ground to swallow him, but his cock is betraying him, twitching in his hand. He won’t last much longer, he thinks and he’s about to say something, when Vale’s next command is thrown at him.

”Stop.”

It costs him some effort, but he withdraws his hands, locking them behind his back again.

”Bedroom.”

Briefly, he wonders if Vale wants to sound more dominant or if the Italian simply can’t manage more than one-word-sentences right now. He does what he knows is expected from him, crawling into the other room and kneeling on the bed, his knees spread, his face in the pillow, his hands locked behind his head.

Vale’s hand caresses his spine, the touch only stopping short before his hole. Marc trembles helplessly, gooseflesh breaking out all over his skin. For a while, Vale keeps repeating the ministration, his fingertips running up and down Marc’s body gently, teasingly. Marc is relieved that the pillow muffles the needy whines falling from his mouth.

”Get on your back for me.” Vale’s voice is more affectionate now again, the audible affection sending a warm wave through Marc.

Vale ties him up properly tonight, hands to the headboard behind his head, each ankle to one bedpost, all binds adjusted so tightly that Marc cannot move an inch and he gulps when he realizes it, knowledge hitting hard that Vale is serious about his plans.

”Are you ready,” Vale asks, finger cupping Marc’s jaw, eyes looking down at him fondly and yes, yes, yes, how could Marc not be ready when Valentino is like this, looks at him like this. He nods eagerly. “Use your words, please.”

”Yes, I’m ready, Sir. Please, Sir.”

”Please what?” A hand travels down his chest, briefly twisting a nipple, making Marc gasp.

”Please make me come, Sir.”

”Oh, I will, I really think I will do just that.” Vale’s voice has gone from affectionate to vicious but Marc has been too close for too long now, he just wants to be touched. His hips buck helplessly, even in his tight restraints and the Italian chuckles. “I like seeing you so eager.”

Marc’s eyes are glassy and he can barely focus while he watches Vale lube his hands and then sit between his legs. The anticipation alone is enough to make his hips buck again, to make his whine.

”If you can’t keep quiet, I might have to gag you.”

Marc swallows, gags being a thing he’s still not comfortable with. Biting his lips hard enough to draw blood, he vows to be more careful. But when Vale’s fingers circle his cock, gripping him tight, picking up a quick pace immediately, he can’t help but groan loudly. Vale keeps his strokes up, firm and relentless and Marc feels his balls tighten, bucks into the touch and almost screams with pleasure. Until Vale stops cold, stepping back from the bed, leaving him panting and close to sobbing.

”Well, I think I’ll have to help you stay quiet then.”

Marc’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. Vale grips his chin hard and stares him down.

”Is there anything you want to say?”

”No, Sir,” Marc whimpers, fingers of Vale’s other hand twisting his nipple painfully. He sucks in a sharp breath, tries to squirm away from the pain but only making matters worse. He feels tears dwell up in his eyes when he whimpers, “Please, gag me, Sir. Help me stay a good, quiet boy, Sir.”

Vale picks up something from _their_ drawer and sits down next to Marc’s head. His hand is running through Marc’s hair, softly, soothingly and Marc sees that the other is holding the smaller ballgag. Relief and gratitude spread through him, his heart calming slightly. Because this could have been worse. Vale doesn’t have to say a word for him to open his mouth wide and the Italian gives him one of these tender, affectionate smiles when he pushes the gag in, fastening it behind Marc’s head.

”Drop these and we stop.”

Vale presses a key ring into Marc’s hand and he nods, trying to smile around the gag. Vale’s hand runs through his hair a last time, gentleness making him shiver, before the Italian moves back to sit between Marc’s spread legs.

”Where were we now?” The devil’s voice is back and so is the grip around Marc’s cock. Vale knows him well enough to pick just the right rhythm, just the right pressure, driving him to the edge in record time. It helps that he feels on display, spread wide for his Master, filled up for him, his muscles clenching against the intruding object. And the gag… it’s uncomfortable and another form of degradation, one that Marc hasn’t gotten used to yet, the drool gathering at the edges of his mouth, slowly dripping down his chin. He can’t say why it’s still so shameful, still making him squirm, but he also learned things about himself and one of them is that feeling humiliated makes him horny. All factors combined, he’s quickly reduced to a pile of mess under Vale’s hands, his body covered in sweat and writhing in its restraints. He’s moaning around the gag, choking on his own drool, his breathing absolutely ragged. And slowly, coherent thinking is leaving his brain, everything reduced to the overwhelming desire to come, to please, please, please come. And he _knows_ , oh yes, he knows that Vale is just good enough at this to keep him on the edge for hours. The Italian has proven that to him, more than once. When Marc is ready for his release, he’ll feel Vale’s fingers squeeze hard around his base, staving off everything at the last second, making him wail in frustration, sounds muffled by the ball in his mouth.

He feels lucky and blessed when after an eternity, the sharp squeeze doesn’t happen and Vale allows him to explode. And it’s nothing short of an explosion, with every muscle in his body shaking, his vision gone white and a gurgled sound coming from his throat that he wouldn’t recognize as his own. The whole world is a blissful heaven for an instant, until the sharp pain takes him down from his high rapidly, because Vale’s fingers don’t let go. He keeps sliding up and down Marc’s shaft and God, it’s so painful, Marc feels so sensitive, his nerves overrun. He just wants a moment to breathe, one moment without that touch and he wriggles and squirms, throws his head from one side to the other with desperate movements.

”Shh, you can do it. You know you can.”

Vale’s free hand roams over his chest and Marc blinks against the tears, tries frantically to calm his breathing. All the strategies he’s learned fail though. Only when Vale actually stops for a moment and crawls up, pressing a kiss to his damp forehead and smiling fondly, does he find the power to gather his strength again. When the Italian raises a questioning eyebrow, he nods, bracing himself for what’s to come.

***

Vale loves seeing Marc unravel like this, though he can hardly imagine anyone who wouldn’t. It’s a sight, that well-trained body writhing helplessly, muscles flexing against their will. And Marc’s face, vulnerable, guards long gone, stains of Valentino’s come and Marc’s tears, a thin line of drool on his chin. The ordeal has the younger covered in sweat already, making his skin glisten beautifully in the dim light. And the sounds… the muffled, needy wails that make it past the gag. Simply gorgeous. It’s a lesson on self-restraint for Vale, too, every time he punishes him. Because it means he’s rockhard from watching all the time and has no way to find release either. He doesn’t want to anyway, wants to save that for later, to fuck into Marc when he’s all loose and gone. Sure, he said he wouldn’t fuck him tonight, but if the boy makes it through, Vale certainly has the intention to treat both of them by pushing into that sweet little hole.

Marc’s movements are growing more erratic now and Vale knows that he’s probably close to zoning out already. He’s trained Marc for a while now already, but he’s not quite sure the younger is really ready for that third time that he has planned. Three times would mean coming dry, painfully. Vale would know, he’s gone through this with Alvaro. And he figures if there’s a time to test it on Marc, it’s today.

The younger sure is a mess, head lolling to the side now, wet patch of drool on the pillow. His hair is clinging to his forehead and his eyes are mostly closed and if he opens them, they’re not focused. Vale can feel that he’s close and no, he’s not vicious enough to tease him now, so he keeps going, moves his hand up and down in that same frantic rhythm that he knows Marc loves, watches his balls tighten and his entire upper body bucking up in his restraints. There’s a few thin white stripes, last dribbles, coming out of his cock and it looks so hot that Vale groans and bends down, licking them of Marc’s stomach, the other whimpering beneath him.

They’re not finished yet, but Vale needs to give both of them a moment and steps away from the bed, finally undressing himself. He kneels down at the head of the bed, a hand running over Marc’s hot, damp face. The younger turns his head, blinks his eyes open, focuses with some trouble.

”You’re doing so well,” Vale says affectionately and he means it, God, he means it so much. “I want to hear you now, okay? Don’t hold back, I’ll get the gag out.”

He reaches around Marc’s head and frees him from the device, which he knows Marc hasn’t accustomed to yet. He feels pride well up in his chest, because Marc has been taking it in stride tonight. And his lips, now wet with saliva and swollen and dark red – it’s irresistible. Vale just has to lean down for that sweet kiss, tongue licking deep into Marc’s mouth, making the boy whimper.

Vale pulls back reluctantly, a small string of saliva connecting them for a moment. Gently, he takes the keys from Marc’s hand, noticing the white knuckles. 

”Ready?”

”Yes, Sir,” Marc says, but his voice is already broken and weak. Vale hesitates for a moment, wonders if Marc is really ready for the next step, if they are really ready, but then he thinks that Marc hasn’t used his safeword and could do so anytime. _Surprise me, babychamp._

Vale doesn’t waste any time teasing now, he just settles between Marc’s knees and takes his spent, half-hard cock into his mouth. It’s already enough to draw a wail from the younger rider. And he has no intention to slow down or stop, not unless the other uses _that_ word. He takes the plug away and drops it to the floor, a broken sob coming from above. When his fingers push inside and find Marc’s prostate at the first try, the younger almost bucks off the bed, force of his revolting muscles probably surprising himself. And the cries, the desperate little wails, they’re only spurring Vale on further, making him desperate to find his own release. 

By the time he lets Marc slide out of his mouth, the younger seems already pretty out of it. Vale sees tears on his face and hears him breathe rapidly, chest heaving hard. The sounds have been reduced to small whines and his eyes are closed. Vale buries himself balls deep in a single thrust, loving the feeling of hot and tight around him, the helpless fluttering and clenching of Marc’s abused hole. Gorgeous, simply gorgeous. And it amazes him every time, how Marc chose him and know allows him to see this side of him with such an ease, so much trust. _So much love?_ They hadn’t said it explicitly. But it seems they’ve been gravitating towards it bit by bit. Vale uses his hand to rip Marc’s third orgasm from him, completely dry this time. The younger screams, honest to God screams of pain and pleasure, followed by all his muscles clenching and thereby taking Vale down with him, the Italian coming inside Marc with a final moan. Marc is pretty much out cold and Vale allows himself a brief moment of recovery, propped up panting over the other, even in his afterglow managing to marvel the younger man’s beauty.

He takes his responsibility for his partner serious and even if he’s pretty much drained himself now, he gets a warm, wet washcloth and cleans Marc’s face and chest, finally wiping off that come, kissing every inch of skin, before he settles on the bed, next to Marc, fingers running over Marc’s arm. 

”I’m proud of you,” he whispers, “So proud.”

”Thank you, Sir,” Marc’s reply comes still a bit slurred, but he turns his head towards Vale and has his eyes open again. And he’s smiling and looks so content that it makes Vale’s heart jump a little.

He kisses Marc, tries for tender and hopes he manages. The soft sigh from the other’s mouth is reassuring.

”I’ll untie you now and take off the collar, bambino.”

The nickname, it’s become the unofficial sign that Marc’s punishment is over. But the younger looks at him, somehow pleadingly. A look, Vale cannot really read.

”Is there anything you want, bambino?”

”Could you,” Marc blushes and his voice is trembling. Valentino tilts his head and smiles encouragingly. “Could you make me sleep tied up and collared, Sir?”

Marc’s eyes are evading his and he’s almost beetroot. Vale knows how much it must have cost him to ask.

”I-,” he hesitates, thoughts running a bit wild right now, “Are you sure? Even with practice coming up tomorrow?” 

”Yes, please, Sir.”

Vale feels his cock twitch already and nods. 

”Okay, bambino, if that’s what you want.” He still loses the binds above Marc’s head, locking his hands in front his stomach instead. And he unties his ankles from the bedposts, too, tying them to each other. His finger traces over the collar lovingly.

”Goodnight, bambino,” he mumbles as he reaches out to turn off the light. He wraps them both in a sheet, feels Marc shiver against him as he presses the young man against his chest, lips on the other’s hair.

_I love you._

_Cause inside of me_  
_I love you to the core._

**Author's Note:**

> Song by Andreas Moe
> 
> And, as I've already been asked several times: No, I didn't delete Mirrors, it's here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2429699/chapters/5377538 ♥


End file.
